


Keep a tender distance

by CrypticSighs



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27560365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrypticSighs/pseuds/CrypticSighs
Summary: Missing yacht scenes.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I picked up pen and paper and this happened. I can only apologise, I can't stop thinking about Roman and Gerri. I imagine this first scene to take place post Roman's arrival and his chat with Logan, Laird and Karl but pre couch chat with Gerri, Frank and Karl.

Gerri is locking the door to her room when she hears the footsteps coming down the yacht staircase. She knows it's him, though the sound of his footsteps lacks some of the usual rhythm. She turns, heading towards the staircase herself when Roman enters the hallway. He pauses momentarily in surprise when he sees her.

“Hey,” she calls, smiling slightly. She lingers by her door, waiting for him to meet her.  
“Hey,” he responds shortly. He comes to a stop across from her, leaning back on the opposite wall. Looking everywhere except her eyes.  
“You okay?” she asks concernedly. He isn’t usually so distant with her.  
“Oh you know, no more fucked up than usual,” he answers.

She closes her eyes and sighs. Her head bending, she looks down at the book clasped in her hands. She regrets her earlier remark. But if her relief at finally seeing him for herself had been obvious then it could have raised suspicions and caused them both problems. She couldn’t risk it. Joining in with the jokes seemed like the safest idea at the time. She should have been more sensitive and remained silent.

“Roman, I didn’t mean it. Everyone was there and I just…” she says, her voice trailing off. She pauses, unsure how to explain. She hopes an apology will be enough to sooth him. “I’m sorry,” she states firmly and she means it.

He finally looks at her properly. Stares into her face, trying to decide something. He knows he is being oversensitive but her comment had stung. He had expected the jokes from everyone else but not from her. Seeing the guilt in her eyes now, he realises this is the first time he’s ever heard her really apologise. He moves off the wall and stands straight as he reminds himself that she is always honest with him. He nods at last, his lips turning up in a small smile to show he forgives her.

She glances towards the staircase, making sure she can’t hear any other footsteps coming their way. She steps towards him, closing the gap between them slightly.

“I was worried about you,” she quietly admits. She doesn’t know why she told him but she thought he should know.

He had forgot how good she smells, the scent of amber and vanilla permeating from her skin. He finds himself staring at the spot at the bottom of her neck where her clavicles meet. He wonders if the smell is even stronger there, whether it would overpower him if he buried his face in that spot. She fidgets suddenly with the giant bronze ring on her left hand, the unexpected movement breaking his stare.

“Yeah, so was I,” he responds throatily, coughing to clear it. “It could’ve been worse though. I could’ve been stuck with Frank. Then I’d have been begging them to shoot at least one of us.”

She shakes her head as she laughs. He feels the tension lighten at the sound. He always enjoys making her laugh or even just smirk. Feels victorious in the rare moments when he manages to crack her stone-faced persona.

She examines his face, notices he’s even paler than usual. She narrows in on the dark bags under his eyes. “You look tired,” she states simply.

“Wow, you’re a real dick charmer,” he laughs. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to tell her just how exhausted he really is. Apparently being held hostage has had some negative side effects on his ability to sleep. His brain won’t stop buzzing and when sleep does come, it’s restless. In a way he feels more trapped than when he actually was a hostage.

“I was gonna go lie down for a while. The big family reunion really knocked it out of me,” he says sarcastically.  
“Did something happen?” she asks worriedly.  
“Just the same old bullshit,” he hesitates. “I tried to talk to Shiv and Ken, like really talk to them, you know? They couldn’t even try.”

He sounds so disappointed as he stares down at his feet. She’s reminded again that for all the wealth and privilege that Logan has given his children, they all turned out damaged in some way. They’ve been trying to play the game from such an early age that they don’t know how to stop and really look at each other.

“I’m not surprised but it’s good that you tried,” she says honestly.  
“Yeah well, and they say I’m emotionally crippled,” he sighs. “The deal didn’t happen either.”  
She nods once. “I heard. You did good though, Rome. You used your instincts and you were right: we can’t rely on their investing,” she reassures.

He knows he couldn’t have done more to make it happen. But having her confirm it makes him feel better about his efforts. “All that trauma for nothing,” he proclaims.

Gerri reaches out suddenly, putting her hand around his thin wrist. “I’m glad you’re okay.” she says softly, brushing her thumb across his forearm.

Her hand is so soft against his clammy skin, he becomes paranoid that she can feel his pulse racing as he stares at her hand. She squeezes his wrist gently before letting go. There’s a sudden tension he doesn’t know what to do with so he runs with the first thing that comes into his head.

“You should be more glad that Laird is okay,” he baits.  
“Laird?” she asks confusedly.  
“Apparently he’s just waiting in the wings for you to give him the nod so he can swoop in and stick a big diamond on that elegant hand of yours,” he explains dramatically, nodding at the hand that's just left his skin burning.  
“Is that so?” she asks, eyebrows raising. “Well that’s quite the proposal.”  
“Yeah and you still haven’t even answered mine,” he says.

It’s out of his mouth before he has time to think about it. He panics, thinking he’s exposed himself. But the truth is: he’s been thinking about it. He may have swept out of that hotel room in true Roman fashion but he’s been trying to prove himself worthy of some kind of partnership with her and she hasn’t given him any true indication of how she feels about it.

She didn’t expect him to bring up that particular Scotland hotel room discussion. Looking at his expression, she assumes he didn’t expect to either. She’s spent a lot of time trying to figure out when and how this prolonged game of chicken, that he started one night on the phone, turned into a serious consideration for her. However she is certain that this so called “mini-break” is not the time to deliberate it. Bodies are going to drop and not being one of them was her priority for the time being.

She narrows her eyes at him and smirks. Starts stepping backwards towards the staircase. 

“Get some sleep, Roman,” she advises. “Take a pill if you have to.” She turns her back to him and starts walking, she can feel him watching her though.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he calls after her.

She can practically hear the smirk in his voice. She stops at the staircase and looks back over her shoulder at him. “And ruin my chances with Laird?” she retorts.

He shakes his head as he laughs.

“I’ll see you later, after your nap,” she calls back, heading up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up immediately from Logan leaving the breakfast showdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck me gently, that's it. My brain is finally free of this. Enjoy or, you know, don't.

“What’s…‘half an idea’,” Tom parrots. “What’s ‘half an idea’?”

Gerri rolls her eyes at Tom’s sheer stupidity. His desperate questioning continues as she stares down at her breakfast. She feels like she has whiplash, she didn’t expect to be dodging so many shots that fired her way. The fact they were fired by three of the most incompetent men at the table has her seething with rage. She should probably listen to some of the group’s post-throwdown babbling but it’s all just white noise. She knows she’s not going to eat the food in front of her, feels nauseous just at the thought. So a few minutes after Logan’s departure, Gerri grabs her phone and rises steadily from the table. She heads inside, stares at her phone all the way. Her only objective is to get to her room without looking or speaking to anyone.

Roman watches Gerri out of the corner of his eye the entire time she sits there, only half-listens when Greg joins in with Tom’s nonsense. He’s amazed at how calm her expression is but he knows the signs well enough to see that below the surface she is anything but calm. His eyes follow her when she gets up and leaves, he’s surprised she stayed as long as she did. It takes everything he has not to get straight up himself and follow her.

Instead he keeps his seat and picks up his green juice. Sips away on the straw and surveys the table as Tom and Greg continue rambling at anyone and everyone. Shiv eventually ushers her idiot husband inside so they can get ready for their romantic boat ride. Greg is pestering Kendall with questions and theories when Ken announces he’s heading for a workout. Roman takes Greg redirecting his glares at him as his cue to leave too. He figures his Big Bird cousin can join in with Karl and Frank’s bickering instead or try to seek solace from Connor, a fellow moron. Roman grabs a clean plate when he’s inside and piles on some food. He glances round when he hears Shiv and Tom marching off to the speed boat. He can feel the arctic atmosphere between them from across the yacht. He heads in the direction they came from and makes his way downstairs to Gerri’s room.

She’s seated at the room desk, pen in hand, when there’s a knock on her door. His knock. She leans back in her chair and sighs. She has to answer, she wants to answer but she doesn’t know what to say. She turns her head to the left, just staring at the door when the knock comes again. She stands, crossing to it and opening it wide for him to enter. She’s baffled when he walks in with a plate of food in hand. 

“If you’re gonna drink before noon, it’s always better to have something to throw up later,” he advises, noting the glass on the newly vacated desk as he sits the plate next to it.  
“It’s water. I haven’t quite reached that point yet,” she corrects him, leaning against the now closed door. “Is that why you’re here? To talk me off the ledge?”  
“I could hold your hair?” he suggests. “Or join in if you prefer? It’s always good to have some support when it comes to day drinking.”

An awkward silence falls between them as she stares down at her bare feet. He studies her intently. Notices that her hair is messier, probably from stressfully running her hands through it before he arrived. She’s also removed the loose necklace she was wearing at breakfast and the top button of her dress is undone. He feels anger rush through him at the state she’s been left in. Anyone else in her position would be breaking down but these small signs are evidence enough that Gerri is rattled.

“How are you?” he asks carefully.  
“Honestly?” she responds, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’m terrified.”  
“It was like a fucked up Wizard of Oz: the Tin Man, Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow all turning on Dorothy just so they can carry on sucking the Wizard’s big dick.”

In spite of her current worries, she finds herself smiling at his bizarre analogy. A small frown settles soon after though.

“It’s not gonna be you, despite those assholes’ efforts,” he declares firmly.  
“I make sense, Roman,” she sighs, irritated at having to admit it. “Executive level, long term employee, a close friend but not actually family. In the end, I’m expendable.”  
“You’re the smartest person on this death cruise and in the entire company. We haven’t a shot of getting through this shit storm without you. Even dad said it: ‘There’s no one more loyal than Gerri.’ He knows he can’t do it without you,” he argues. “Frank’s expendable, that’s why he’s always fired.”  
“Things have changed, Roman. Ever since he put my name on that piece of paper, he hasn’t trusted me like he did,” she points out. She’s positive she hasn’t been the only one to notice the change, she feels like she’s been hanging on by a thread at times.  
“It won’t be you and we’ll do whatever we have to to make sure of it,” he concludes confidently.

She’s stunned to silence at his use of “we”. Her hand comes up to rub the bridge of her nose as she tries not to process what it means. She doesn’t have the head space to deal with “we” right now. Her gaze falls on the bar cabinet in the corner of the room behind Roman.

“I think I’ll have that drink actually,” she requests, her throat suddenly feeling dry.

Roman spins round, lifts out a glass and bottle. He pours her a finger of Grey Goose before replacing it and closing the cabinet. As he turns back to her, she pushes off the door to meet him in the middle of the floor. The desk and bed on either side of them as Roman hands her the glass. He watches her eyes close in relief at the first swallow.

“So if I’m Dorothy, does that make you Toto?” she queries, referring to his earlier comparison.  
“Of course, your loyal little lapdog. I just follow you around with my tongue hanging out and my little tail wagging. Barking at anyone I consider a threat, never bite unless instructed,” he declares happily.

Gerri laughs into her glass as she downs the remaining alcohol. Enjoys the burn in her throat as she places the empty glass on the desk beside the food he brought. She considers his actions at the dining table earlier. Stepping in and speaking up for her took a lot of courage on his part, especially to his father. She’s only too aware of the solid hold Logan has over his children. They don’t tend to show any real respect for anyone except him. Roman’s loyalty to her is clear; his quick thinking and uncharacteristic coolness earlier may end up being her saving grace.

“Thank you,” she says softly, hopes he understands her meaning.  
“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs, knows very well what she’s referring to.  
“I mean it, Roman. What you did: you put yourself on the line defending me like that and you did it well,” she acknowledges. He could have easily given away their little arrangement at that table but he argued like it was for the company, only she knew better.  
“I hope it was enough,” he responds warmly.

Without thinking, Gerri closes the gap between them and reaches her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you,” she repeats meaningfully, whispering it into his shirt.

He’s shocked at the sudden full on touching. The closest contact they’d ever had, before yesterday’s wrist grabbing, was fingers accidentally brushing or a hand briefly patting the other’s upper arm on rare occasions. He tries his best to recover, bringing his hands up to rest on her waist and feeling the softness of her green patterned dress.

“I won’t let it be you, Gerri,” he reassures firmly. “I need you.”  
“Rockstar and the Molewoman?” she jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere.  
“Seriously, Gerri. Whatever you need, I’ll do it,” he announces.  
“Okay,” she responds quietly.

She feels overwhelmed by the heavy promises and pronouncements he’s made since he knocked on her door. Feels she needs to backtrack before this goes too far. It will be difficult to compartmentalise everything but this, they, can’t happen. She grabs his shirt and squeezes him tightly before starting to pull back. He moves his hands round to her back in response and clings harder.

“Roman,” she warns, her usual tough tone returning.  
“How can you smell this good?” he says, burying his face into her hair as he inhales. Wants to overpower his senses with her amber and vanilla perfume.  
“This isn’t a good idea, Roman,” she argues, moving her hands down to his upper arms and pushing back on them lightly.

He loosens his hold slightly and pulls back so he can look at her face. She’s frowning at him, he swears he can hear her brain thrumming away as she tries to come up with as many exit strategies as she can. He tilts his head at her questioningly and returns the frown.

“What is it you think’s gonna happen, besides the obvious?” he asks, genuinely curious. “All those conference calls and shoving me into that bathroom, what’re you trying to avoid? Is this a ‘what you can’t see, can’t hurt you’ thing? You berate me, listen to me moaning but because you haven’t actually seen me touching my dick while you talk, you can neither confirm nor deny that’s what I’m doing?”

She takes a moment to consider her response. He’s right in a sense. She could’ve hung up on that first call. He may technically be her boss but he’s Roman, she didn’t feel forced to stay on the phone. He had pushed so she had pushed then suddenly he was moaning and she wasn’t hanging up. And it happened again and again and again. That night he came to her at Tern Haven, she didn’t want to say no but she couldn’t face him while it happened. The bathroom door was a comfortable cushion to hide behind at the time. The phone calls are easy for her to put a lid on and deny, she rationalises that she can stop them at any time. It’d be harder to look each other in the eye again if they shared something truly intimate.

“Plausible deniability,” she finally answers, deciding to give him a vague version of the truth.  
“That’s fucked up,” he declares, surprised she forfeited any kind of real answer. “And hot. At some point though, Gerri, you’re going to have to at least try to trust me. Haven’t I proven my loyalty to you?”

He lifts his right hand up to her face, runs his thumb across her cheekbone before sliding his hand into her hair. She freezes, holds her breath but doesn’t recoil. His other hand slips further around her back as he leans closer.

“Isn’t it time I got to hear you moan?” he breathes.

Her brain is buzzing at his suggestion, every sensible instinct she possesses trying to kick in. She should get out now, keep her currently limited exposure as is. He may brood for a while but she’d still be safe, even if he overreacted and stupidly retaliated later. The phone logs don’t prove anything concrete, it’d be his word against hers. Her eyes widen, huge blue orbs fixated on his face. The realisation hits her as he continues gently playing with her hair: she doesn’t want to say no.

She slides her hands up to his shoulders then down to rest flat against his chest. She feels steadier at the idea she could shove him back at any moment. “I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore,” she sighs, trying to gauge what his end goal might be.

“Neither do I. Fuck it, it’s whatever we want it to be. I eat you, you eat me,” he suggests, once again reminding her of his proposal. His hand returns to her face, palm resting on her jaw as his thumb reaches up to brush gently across her lower lip. “I’ll happily surrender to you at any time.”

“I’m serious, Roman,” she says more firmly.  
“So am I. You’ve already won the game, Gerri. You’d won before we even started,” he states obviously. “Can’t you just enjoy the playing part without stategising about winning?”  
“Winning is where the real fun is,” she breathes onto the thumb that’s ghosting over her mouth.  
“Let’s see, shall we,” he whispers, moving his thumb away as he leans in.

Her lips are even softer than her skin and he instantly feels overwhelmed, like he’s going to pass out. Tries his best to stay grounded in the moment and not overthink the fact that she’s actually letting him brush his lips across hers. They pull apart after a few seconds. Her eyes flutter open behind her glasses, revealing blown pupils. The vein in his forehead starts bulging at the sight.

She fists his shirt in her hands as their mouths meet again. Runs her tongue along his upper lip to tease his mouth open. She groans when his tongue slides against hers. Feels his hand glide along her jaw, thumb stroking her earlobe. She’s grateful now that she removed her earrings before he arrived. Tries not to think about returning to her room earlier and all the pacing she did in the hopes of shaking out her frustrations.

His other hand moves to the small of her back, he feels like he can’t get close enough to her. Tugs her flush against him so their hips align. His mouth travels along her jaw and down to the skin beneath her ear, leaving closed mouth kisses as he goes.

She leans her head back to allow his explorations, her left hand coming up to the back of his head. She gasps when he reaches her pulse point. He nips the skin there before soothing it with his tongue.

“I thought you didn’t bite unless instructed?” she utters throatily, reaches down to pull his white t-shirt up his body.  
“Your groans suggested it would be welcome,” he responds, throwing the t-shirt over the desk chair. “Feel free to be more explicit though.”  
“Just make sure no one else will be able to see the evidence of this afterwards,” she warns, digging her nails into his ribs.  
“Certainly, counsellor,” he affirms.

It takes all his powers of concentration to undo the buttons of her dress. He tries not to let his fumbling idiotic side take over and ruin the precious mood they’ve created. He keeps his focus on the expanse of skin he’s gradually unveiling. “Fuck,” he hisses. His mouth drops open when he glimpses the deep blue silk bra. The contrast against her white skin is the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. He traces his fingers along the lace edge at the top of her breast.

Gerri can only breathe deeply and watch his awed expression. Roman isn’t known for his selflessness, she never imagined he’d want to reciprocate for all those phone calls. Believed the reason they worked for him in the first place was the lack of pressure on him. So she lets him move at his own pace. He’s opened the dress wide enough for him to slip his right hand inside and cup her breast. Her breath staggers as his thumb circles her nipple over her bra. She grabs his face in her hands and pulls his lips against hers, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

He bunches the dress at her hip with his other hand and pushes her towards the bed. She doesn’t relent on her attack of his mouth even when she sits down, legs half hanging over the edge. He rests his right knee between her thighs and presses her down onto her back. His weight balanced on his knee and forearm, his mouth breaks from hers and moves down her sternum. He buries his face between her breasts before finally crossing to her other nipple. Licking and grazing it with his teeth, he soaks the covering fabric fully with his mouth before biting down hard.

“Oh, fuck,” Gerri gasps, one hand in his hair and the other scratching down his shoulder blade. She rubs herself against his knee, desperate for some friction.

Roman drags the bottom of the long dress up her legs, the mass of soft fabric ends up in a pool on her stomach. He runs his hand from her freshly exposed knee up to her matching blue underwear, feels her push down on his knee again when he teases his fingers along the inside of the silky hem at the top of her thigh.

“Roman,” she hisses, yanking his head up to hers by the hair.

She kisses him fiercely, her back arching off the bed to rub her breasts against his bare chest. She’s running her tongue along the roof of his mouth when he suddenly slides his hand under the silk to cup her. Her mouth moves to his shoulder, breathing huffily against it as his fingers ghost around their target. She withstands his teasing for only a few unbearable seconds before latching her teeth onto his collarbone.

He groans at her not so subtle hint, finally presses his fingers where she obviously needs them. The little moans she makes in response completely worth the sting of her bite. Her head drops back on the bed so he can enjoy a front row view. He watches the little lines around her eyes deepen as they squeeze close, her glowing hair puffed out around her head. He picks up the rhythm of his circling fingers, his eyes instantly drawn to her mouth as she bites down on her bottom lip. He moves his hand down to her entrance when she opens legs wider, rotates his fingers around it briefly before sliding them back to her centre.

“Ah,” she gasps, licking her dry lips. Her hips push up involuntarily as he increases the pressure against her. She can hardly breathe when she kisses him, running her nails against his scalp. “Please, Rome.”

He freezes at her open expression. His brain struggling to compute that her imploring eyes and desperate plea are for him. He snaps to action when she starts to push at her soaking underwear. He grabs them for her, peeling them down her legs with him as he climbs down to kneel on the floor. He lifts her legs onto his shoulders and tugs her closer to the edge of the bed. He places gentle open mouthed kisses to her knee and up the inside of one of her pale thighs, turns at the last moment to nibble at the other. He sucks down hard next to a tiny mole he finds there, leaves a flaming red mark where she’ll find it later. A welcome alternative to leaving his name in her recent calls list.

She grips the bedsheet in anticipation when she finally feels his breath on her clit. Frowns with worry that he’ll start teasing all over again when he suddenly sucks it into his mouth. She can’t believe it’s come to this: Roman Roy flicking his tongue against her and her pressing against his face, truly wanting this to happen. Her head delightfully empties as the pleasure builds in her core. Her head arches back when he slips two fingers inside her.

The pain shoots from his scalp down his spine when she grips his hair without warning. He feels her grasp tighten as he increases the speed of his fingers, curls them just so. It doesn’t take long before he feels her tighten around his fingers, thighs squeezing his head. He steadies her hips as she falls over the edge. The indescribable noise she makes seared in his memory forever. He keeps his fingers gently moving as she rides the aftershocks. She gasps when he finally removes them from her. He slowly slips her legs off his shoulders, rolls his neck loose as he wipes his face and mouth on the edge of the bedsheet.

Her senses returning, she reaches for his hand. Drags him up to lean back over her and rests the palm of her other hand against his cheek. She smirks when she sees some shiny remnants of herself on his chin. Brings her thumb down to trace around his mouth. “Little slime puppy,” she grins at him.

He stares at her in admiration, his face beaming with the knowledge that the radiant blush across her face and chest was all his doing. She draws his face to hers, presses their lips together in a wet, languid kiss. He feels this sublime lightness in his chest as he slowly explores her mouth. Sucks on her bottom lip, making her moan again. They eventually part for air, foreheads resting against each other as they breathe heavily.

She gently presses his shoulder, urging him to lay on his back beside her on the bed. They stare at the ceiling, both feeling exhausted but revived at the same time. Though the day is very far from over.

“I’d never tell anyone, Gerri,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the ceiling.  
“What?” she asks, confused by his sudden proclamation.  
“If this, us, all went to shit tomorrow, I’d never tell anyone it even happened,” he explains.  
“Why are you telling me this?” she queries, didn’t expect his pillow talk to be quite so serious.  
“I just want you to know I’m not that kind of guy,” he says honestly. “I don’t want you to regret this and I want you to know I don’t have it in me to betray you or anything.”  
“I don’t regret it,” she whispers. “But the day is young.” 

She hopes the small joke will distract him, keep him from noticing that she hasn’t given him the same assurance of no betrayal. She’s been in the game long enough to know that when it comes down to it, she’s capable of whatever it takes. If she survives tonight, her only hope beyond that is to never be in the position where she actually has to make that choice.

“I don’t know about you but I don’t want to see any of those assholes before dinner,” he hints, praying she doesn’t instantly reject the idea of spending the day together. He doesn’t know if the dice will land in their favour tonight but being locked in this room with Gerri is the closest ignorance has ever felt to bliss.

She rolls onto her side to face him and rubs her hand across his pale chest. “I don’t have anything scheduled,” she says casually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you read to the end... I'm touched.
> 
> MAJOR respect to those of you who regularly write because it takes some real dedication. However there was joy in my suffering and I can only hope there was some for you in the reading of it.
> 
> Here's to season 3!


End file.
